Electricity
by Dragynflies
Summary: Elle & Sylar do more than talk and zap things. Spoilers for 3x09


Title: Electricity

Author: dragynflies

Rating: R for sexin'

Pairing: Elle/Sylar

Summary: _She laughs and praises you, "See how good you are?" and you pull the bra open._ Elle and Sylar do more than zap things when they're all alone…

Disclaimer: Not mine, but if they ever go up for sale, I'll be in line.

This is my first fanfic in _months_ and it nearly wrote itself. Comment and criticism are VERY much appreciated!

She's got both of her little hands wrapped around your arm, giggling – fucking giggling – as she encourages you.

"Good! Good, that's really good!" she cheers as you roll up a little ball of lightening and throw it towards some imaginary foe. You like the power – you knew you would, wanted it since the first time you saw it. But there's nothing like having her wrapped up in your arms, both of you throwing electricity around the room.

It's better than any power you've come across yet.

"Thank you," you murmur to her, and she spins in your arms, making eye contact with huge eyes.

"Thank _you_" she murmurs back, and that little voice in your head – the one that's been dead for so long – comes back in full force, screaming _KISS her, you IDIOT._

So you do, palming the back of her head and bringing your lips down to her. It's sweaty and messy and she hitches herself against you, wrapping her arms around the back of your neck and it tingles where she touches. You're not sure if it's from little bolts or just because it's her, finally in your arms.

You won't admit it out loud, but you've never forgotten. Never forgotten her smile as she passed over that istupid/i peach pie, and never forgotten how much it hurt when you realized her betrayal – almost as much as it hurt when she turned and bolted out of your apartment, blood still on your hands.

But it's in the past now, and she's wrapping her legs around your hips and kissing you back like maybe she's never forgotten you either.

And maybe she's even _forgiven _you.

"Gabriel," she breathes, her breath hot against your ear and you leave a little trail of kissing from her cheek down her neck, then carefully lower her to the floor. You want to keep her in your arms forever, but this room was not made for romance. The walls are covered in grid and the floor is cold, and your eyes can't help but follow the path back to the chains that held her only an hour ago.

What's worse is your can't really bring yourself to care, and you push her little purple shirt up anyway. She gasps as you palm her breast, and it's better than any noise you've ever heard in your life. (You try not to think about the sickening crack of skulls breaking open and the last gasp your victims made before they died, because they're in the past and she's forgiven you, and you really need to work on really forgiving yourself.)

Elle moves under you, reaching for you, and you rip her shirt off and grin down at her. She smiles back, really smiles – and takes your hand, pushes your fingers down to your palm to make you point at the center of her bra, between her breasts.

"Show me," she says, and her voice is breathy, "just do it a little."

You know what she means even without her breathy little command, and you carefully let the electricity roll through your body, snapping out through your pointer finger and incinerating the little snap holding her bra together.

She laughs and praises you, "See how good you are?" and you pull the bra open.

"You have no idea how good I am," you tease as you bring your mouth down, kissing her little rosy nipples. She's panting and squirming in seconds, running her hands through your hair, cracking her head on the back of the cement whenever she arches her back.

You feel a little like an acrobat as you try to keep one hand cupped around her head (you don' t like the sound of her skull hitting concrete) and try to unbutton her pants with the other. For the first time, your head is completely silent and all you can see is her. You don't feel like a killer anymore.

She moves her hands from your chest to help you with her pants, yanking down her pants and kicking them off over her bare feet before doing the same with her little lacy panties. She's insistent now, under you, unbuttoning what's left of your jeans and encouraging you to kick them off.

You feel like there should be some foreplay, that this should be gentle, but she's hard to resist as she pulls your face towards her, kissing you hard and wrapping one slim leg around your hips.

"Gabriel," she whimpers, "Please."

Her _please _reminds you of other times people have begged you, and for a minute all the noise in your head is back and you drop your face to her shoulder.

"Don't," she soothes, realizing, and she's sliding her hands up and down your back, kissing your neck and reminding you of who you are becoming – someone ibetter/i -- and you finally slide against her, guiding yourself into her. She's soaked, and for the briefest, bizarre moment all you can think of is how wetness transfers electricity, but then there's no more thinking, because you finally have the only thing you ever really wanted.

And it's so much better to be given a gift than to take it.


End file.
